


i guess i want to bury you

by orphan_account



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Character Study, Drabble, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-10
Updated: 2014-03-10
Packaged: 2018-01-15 05:24:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1293004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She fell hard and unequivocally for Michael Townley, straight-backed and proud and savage... but these days all she has of him is a memory, a ghost glimpsed sometimes in the shadow cast by Michael De Santa, who lounges all flabby and deflated by the poolside in the sticky summertime heat, a sad reminder of those halcyon days when she was in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i guess i want to bury you

**Author's Note:**

> I barfed this out once upon a time on Tumblr, but having recently been struck by terrible guilt every time I think about my poor, neglected AO3 account, I figured it would do no harm to upload it here as well.

Michael has his own ways of apologising, little acts of contrition that over time add up to adequate recompense for the ten years Trevor spent with grief stuck hard in his heart like a splinter. He’s not a man of complex needs, after all, and the sight of Michael choking on his cock, all flushed and sweaty and graceless, is usually enough to make Trevor forget for a while all the shit he’s been put through… and if not, well, Michael looks even better from behind, with bloody furrows clawed down his back and his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists as Trevor fucks him into whimpering, wanton submission.

Trevor takes sick-sweet satisfaction in knowing that Michael goes limping home to Amanda some mornings with bitemarks all along the backs of his shoulders and the dark shadow of bruises forming on his hips and ribcage… and Amanda, all pale and inflamed around the edges from a night spent sleepless, will struggle with her emotions; she’ll want to spit venom and bile, or she’ll want to be coolly contemptuous, she’ll want to ask, “Have you been fucking Trevor Phillips?”

But she won’t, because her lips won’t form the words. She’ll stand there puffing like a fish out of water, all wet-eyed and wounded, and finally ask, “Where have you been all night, Michael?” and Michael will spin her a lie so transparent that it’s a small wonder he even bothered, a lie that Amanda will swallow, a bitter pill, because she wants so badly to be in love with Michael like she used to be.

Trevor, for his part, can relate to that, because, oh, how times have changed.

Michael knows it, too. He stands in the shower under a stream of water so hot that it turns his skin red and makes him dizzy, feeling unclean, and unhappy in the memory of those times before, when just surviving for another day was euphoria, and home wasn’t in this blister of a city but anywhere, as long as Trevor was there too, and Brad.

They’re memories that should have died ten years ago in the snow… but what’s that old saying about best-laid plans?


End file.
